The Choice
by Silent Echoes
Summary: What if the fabric of time-space ripped? What if story characters were transported to times and places they didn’t belong? What if they were locked in the exact stance they were in before they entered a strange new land?


Disclaimer: "I" is the only character that I own. All others (Grizabella; Eliza Doolittle; the Phantom; Rosemary; Marius and Eponine) are from the following musicals, respectively: _Cats_, _My Fair Lady_, _Phantom of the Opera_, _How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying_, and _Les Misérables_. I'm currently too lazy to look up what belongs to who. If this really bothers you (that I don't have that information), you can look it up yourself and give me the information, and I will revise this disclaimer. The scenery and the Gorgon Medusa are part of the Greek myth of Perseus. It is most probable that that myth belongs to the people of Greece, but I am not entirely sure (note the dripping sarcasm).

Author's note: This story might not make sense. Today being the end of the semester, we had no work at all. This story just came to me in Science class while I was reading a book of Greek mythology (it was better than playing musical chairs with the rest of my genius-like classmates).

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The Choice

What if the fabric of time-space ripped? What if story characters were transported to times and places they didn't belong? What if they were trapped there for centuries? What if they met a deadly, dangerous mythical creature and were locked in the exact stance they were in before they had entered a strange new land?

I traveled to the Land Beyond, to the Land of Hyperboreans—the home of the Gorgon Medusa. Medusa, however, was long gone. It must have been millennia since Perseus slew her. But the island remained. I saw the sea that was always a choked marsh, the sky that is brown and low, and the foul stench of the strange weeds. I was to release the prisoners.

I made my way to the center of the cursed island. I saw dark, still shapes silhouetted against the muddy light. Drawing closer, I saw that they were statues. No, not statues, but stone figures. I recognized characters from stories—timeless legends that have been immortalized by audiences' love. I saw an old grisly cat looking at the sky, face illuminated by passion. There was a woman dressed in tacky costume clothing, her head topped by a hat with an oversized feather. I saw a man with a billowing cloak whose upper face was covered by a plain mask. I saw a woman with a dreamy smile frozen on her unmoving face. She was dressed in business clothes and had a nametag pin on the lapel of her jacket. "Rosemary," it said. I saw many more characters. And they were all stone.

As I released each one from its unmoving prison, the character blinked several times or shook its head, as if awaking from a trance. Each character's form would then grow blurry and fade away until there wasn't a trace left. I knew they were in better places.

Grizabella, the cat, was going back to the rest of the stray cats. Eliza Doolittle would shed her dirty clothes and don the life of a lady. The Phantom was returning to the opera house to revel in his love for Christine. Rosemary was going back to her life as an unmarried secretary—although she wouldn't be single for long.

I freed many more characters, smiling at the thought of the homes where they were going to. Where they belonged.

I came to the last two characters—they were here as a pair—and my smile widened. A girl on the brink of womanhood lay on the ground, her head and torso cradled in the arms of an equally young boy. The boy looked down at her, smiling sadly, as the girl's face wore an expression of peaceful delight. Marius and Eponine.

I readied my mind for the last releasal. They were going back to nineteenth-century Paris. I was sending them home...

So that Eponine would die.

I felt my mouth twitch and twist into a frown. I hadn't thought of that. Eponine was one of my favorite characters. Sending her back home was sending her to certain doom.

But who was I to keep her from fulfilling her destiny?

I shook my head free of the thought. I had never believed in fate or destiny. I was the one who laid out every option and possibility. I was the one who always questioned occurrences. "What if...? What if...?"

I laid out my two options right now. I could send Eponine and Marius back. Eponine would die, and Marius would grieve over his friends' untimely deaths. Or, I could leave them here, frozen in eternity, fragile as an snowflake balanced precariously on trembling eyelashes.

A phrase from Eponine death scene wafted into my mind. _A breath away from where you are_..._I've come home from so far_... Eponine was an outcast everywhere, whether it be on the streets or with her family. The only time she ever felt like she belonged was when she was with Marius. Why shouldn't she be with him?

The song continued playing in my head. _I'll sleep in your embrace at last_. A small smiled formed on my lips. All Eponine wants is to be with Marius. Who am I to deny her that? But then a shadow fell across my mind. What about Marius? He was to be with Cosette; he was not supposed holding Eponine in his arms forever. Who am I to mutilate the story of _Les Misérables_? Who knew Eponine would be sleeping in Marius' arms forever?

_A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now_. Indeed, rain has little effect on rocks. After one rainfall, when all the water comes out, it seems that nothing has changed. But what about all the storms to come? The rain will slowly wear the stone away. I couldn't bear to even think about Eponine's and Marius' delicate features dulled, their faces nothing but empty surfaces.

But what about if I was to send them back? Eponine would die immediately. Marius would also die, eventually. And then they would rot, the stench of decay filling the air around them. They would rot away until they were only skeletons. And then even their bones would rot. Their whole bodies would waste away until they were nothing.

_And rain_..._will make the flowers_..._grow_. No—not nothing. Their bodies would disintegrate and become soil, a part of the living Earth. After all, rain isn't the only thing that makes the flowers grow.

My mind switched to the ending scene. _Do you hear the people sing?_ All the people—except for a select few—are dead and disintegrating into the soil. But their spirits live on to sing. _When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums_...

Stones don't have spirits. Stones don't have hearts. If I was to leave this place without doing anything else, Eponine would still be in Marius' arms. But she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't be aware of anything, because stones are not alive. As obvious as it sounded, I had ignored that fact. It was better for Eponine to relish a minute of being in Marius' arms than to be there forever, unaware of her very existence.

I felt the pounding of my heart. It reverberated in my ears, sounding near and distant at the same time. _Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring_... Today, Marius and Eponine would be together one last time. Tomorrow, they will be free. Marius will be free of the terrible heart-wrenching feeling that fills him when he is not with Cosette, and Eponine will be free from the depths of the Parisian Underworld.

_Tomorrow comes!_

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Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read my story! Reviews are appreciated!


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